Just Like My Father...

Holy shit.  The Canucks gave up 7 goals in the third period to lose to the Islanders (YES! Those Islanders!) 7-4. Poor Eddie Lack, only a week removed from becoming the Canucks #1 goaltender. Talk about foreshadowing...

But I can't talk about this. Or Rich Peverly. Hockey, you need to stop being so damn dramatic or the rest of America may just catch up to how freaking awesome you are. I can't recall the last time any baseball player has ever died in mid-game (literally died, not figuratively died from boredom). So let's move on. I really need a break from all the drama. 

Oh yeah, the answers to this post were A)Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin And Hobbes, B) Daft Punk - creator of fashionable full face motorcycle DJ helmets and C) Jack Handey, perhaps the 2nd funniest one-liner man out there (after Stephen Wright, of course). But let's get up close and personal, let's talk about Dads (because according to my byline, we are people too). 

The trick to finishing anything is total concentration and a high level of ignoring.

Dads. 

You either love'm, hate'm or don't have'm. In which case you probably hate'm. For those that grew up with Dads, they were either there too much or too little. They were either huge assholes or huge pussies. They made rules, brought out the strap, taught you how to shoot a gun. Or didn't. Maybe they beat you and drank too much and got you high and shared a jail cell with you. I don't know what your personal story is but there is one thing I am pretty sure that all of us said at one time or another "I'm never going to be like my Dad."



So here it is 20-some years later. My Dad is a Grampa now and doing a pretty good job of it, in my opinion. Of course, things are easier for him; he doesn't have any kids in his house, he's retired and spends his free time gardening (his life-long hobby) and reading up on the latest conspiracy theories. He hasn't had kids living 24/7 in his house for nearly 15 years, give or take.

And me? Well, fuck it all to hell, I'm turning into him, despite my earlier promise. How do I know? Here's a short list. It's short because I have kids now who don't seem to care at all what I am personally doing if it doesn't fit into their world and so usually update this blog from my man-cave, otherwise known as the bathroom.


Clothing

If it fits, I sits...

My Dad has been wearing the same jackets for decades. I know this because they are embroidered with the year he received them, which was back when that was fashionable. He has this sky-blue polyester jacket given to him by BC TEL, which I know was bought out by Telus in 1998. I know he was wearing it in the 80's. So that makes that jacket was about 20 years old. The last time I saw him wearing it there was a huge diagonal rip on the back, like he had just avoided a broadsword and I remember thinking 'man, that's an old jacket'. He has another jacket, a bit warmer, that he has also had for nearly 30 years (again, going by the embroidered date on the sleeve). I used to wonder why he didn't just shell out $50 for a new jacket, something that at least looks like it was bought at Wal-Mart and not found in the dumpster behind value village.

I remembered his jackets last week when I pulled out my most comfortable shirt; a green plaid flannel shirt that was now ripping quite quickly at the cuff. But still, wearing it is like being wrapped by warm butter. I noticed the tear and then recalled when I first got this shirt, a run-away rescue from a roommate's laundry. That was in 2005. It went into my closet and has survived multiple moves in the last nine years and still my go-to shirt for when I just don't give a fuck what I'm wearing. So if I add on when plaid flannel was fashionable and when my ex-roommate probably got the shirt, say mid-nineties, back when Kurt Cobain was alive and that's another 10 years. My favourite shirt is nearly 20 years old. Just like my Dad's jacket.


Lights

My Dad would be so pissed right now...

A running theme through my childhood was our Dad giving me and my brother shit over not shutting off the lights in the house during the day. I never thought much about it, because...well, they were lights. You don't really notice they are on in the day because, well, it's already pretty light out. An electric bill is something that happened to other people.

Now I am catching myself walking around the house, counting how many lights are on in empty rooms. It doesn't help that for some reason we somehow usually fail to realize that curtains are actually just movable walls that will allow real natural daylight in. They are just not our go-to source for lighting. But now that we get an electric bill in the mail every two months, it's become more than a game for me, it's become that ticking bomb where I fear one day I will explode and say 'Why the hell are these lights on?' and I will turn and see my Dad behind me and he will nudge me in the chest and say 'See? It's annoying isn't it? Now tell them to go outside'.


Car Care

At least his Dad taught him a job skill

My dad believed in two things about his vehicle; that he should be the only one to drive it and that I should learn the basics of car care. That included always going to the cheapest spot for gas, no matter how little the savings were. My Dad would cut across four lanes of traffic, pull an E-Brake U-Turn just so he could get to a gas station across the street that was one cent cheaper.  While there he made it clear that in no way was someone to provide 'full service'. He'd get out and do his own window cleaning, do his own pumping and occasionally check the oil. He made sure that I knew how to change a tire and use jumper cables before I turned 14.

As for me? Fuck yeah, I'm willing to drive 5 extra miles in order to save 1 cent a liter on gas, if only it means that i'm saving approximately 50 cents in total. It's the principle of the thing. I feel so embarrassed if some kid ever told me that I can sit in the car while he pumps my gas that on those few occasions when I have made the mistake of going to a full service station, I still get out and stand beside the guy, just to let him know that I'm a man too. Sometimes I might just grab the squee gee thing and start doing the windows just to SHOW HIM. I never get another man to check my oil, instead waiting until I'm miles away from the gas station to do it. I once tried to jump start a PT Cruiser in -20 degree weather and felt immense shame because I couldn't find out where the jumper cables (much less the battery) went.


To be cont'd....